


Another Stolen Night

by BrandonStrayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Established Relationship, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne
Summary: Once a year, they get to indulge and nobody needs to know. But that isn't nearly enough.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 132





	Another Stolen Night

**Author's Note:**

> I am forever and always in the debt of my wonderful betas, [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliemaye), [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse), and [Keep_Calm_and_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_calm_and_expecto_patronum). Without them, my stories would be dreck.

Draco adjusted the cufflinks on his French cuff shirt, adjusting the arms of his dinner jacket as his eyes scanned the room. He tried to tell himself that his perusal was devoid of intent, but deep down he knew he was kidding himself, especially when his heart stuttered as his gaze swept over a familiar dark mop of hair. A well-known emerald pair of eyes looked up and he felt riveted to the spot for what felt like an infinity, but was probably no more than a handful of seconds before he built up the will power required to tear away.

Head raised, Draco headed in the opposite direction, walking over to the long metallic bar at the side of the room and ordering himself a gin and tonic with an apple fan, the sweetness of the apple accented with just a hint of a lemon spritz adding a delicate sweetness to the classic drink. Draco took a small, reinforcing sip of his drink before turning around, elbows resting behind him on the bar as he affected a nonchalant stance.

He smirked and quirked one eyebrow at Potter as he caught the man stealing glimpses at him red-handed for the fifth time, his smirk becoming more pronounced as the other man flushed and hurriedly looked away, turning his attention back to the squat, middle-aged wizard that was currently gesticulating wildly as he regaled Potter with a story.

Draco always affected an attitude of insouciance at these yearly conventions, never letting on to Potter just how much he was thrilled by the other man’s attentions. After the war, Potter had testified on Draco and his mother’s behalf, securing both their freedom and yet another begrudging debt on Draco’s side. But avoiding Azkaban did not mean that Draco had gotten off scot-free and after quickly realising that the British wizarding community was not inclined to be as forgiving as Potter and the Wizengamot, Draco and Narcissa had taken up permanent residence in their French chateau (which fortunately had been outside of the British Ministry’s legal reach to seize for reparations.)

Draco hadn’t stepped foot on English soil since. He had thought that Potter was a distant figure in his past until eight years ago, when he’d walked into that hotel bar in Geneva and had found the last person he’d ever expected, or wanted, to see again. That first meeting had been tense, but maybe it was the neutral spirit of the country they were in that had inspired them because somehow they had ended up sitting together in a dark corner, a steady stream of alcoholic beverages helping to melt their frigid attitudes enough to have them laughing together. They had closed down the bar that night, all of the other teachers trickling away from the networking reception to return to their rooms until the only people left in the bar were the two of them and the increasingly annoyed waitstaff who kept shooting them dirty looks.

Draco couldn’t remember whose idea it had been, that first time, but one minute they’d been down in the safety of the public hotel bar and the next they’d been heading up in the elevator, stumbling out on Harry’s floor and lurching their way down the corridor to room 812, alternating between boisterous laughter and hushed whispers whenever they would remember there were people trying to sleep behind all of the anonymous sealed doors.

After they’d finally fumbled their way into Harry’s room, it hadn’t been long before the threadbare pretence of grabbing a nightcap had been torn away and he had Potter pinned to the wall, arms pinned above his head by the wrist as Draco reached between them and stroked Potter through his trousers.

That first time had been impetuous and desperate, clothes tearing away and hands exploring to the sound of panting breaths. Too quickly, he had Potter bent over the bed, legs spread open around the corner and was pushing past that tenacious ring of muscle into the warmth of Potter’s body. Draco had been so blinded by the fog of lust that he hadn’t heard the message Potter’s body had been screaming at him, hadn’t read the pain written clearly along the tense lines of Harry’s muscles.

When he had been fully buried in that snug heat, Draco’s mind had finally cleared enough to take in Harry’s body language and he’d stilled, asking Harry if he wanted him to stop. It was only then that Draco had learned that this was Harry’s first time with a man. He’d known that Harry and the Weaselette had married shortly after the war had ended; that news was impossible to miss, even in France. The entire wizarding world had embraced the fairy tale romance story, desperate for a happy event after so many years of fear and heartbreak. Their wedding had been a huge public affair and had been covered in wizarding newspapers all across Europe.

Draco also knew that marriages held hidden places, blind spots where both spouses agreed not to look too closely, where there was room to fulfil needs that the other person wasn’t equipped to handle. When they’d come up here “for a nightcap”, Draco had assumed that Harry was just utilising this weekend away from his wife to scratch an itch that Ginny couldn’t reach. Draco had never once considered that this was Harry’s first time acknowledging this particular need, and if he had, Draco probably wouldn’t have volunteered for the task because a bond was formed that night. He had been Harry’s first, and you never forgot your first.

What was supposed to have been a quick tumble with an old crush had become something more as he’d bent over Harry and had whispered soft words of praise and encouragement into his ear. About how good he felt, how strong he was, how good he was going to make Harry feel. He’d laid there on top of Harry, their bodies pressed close, and he’d soothed the other man until he felt the tension ease out of his body and he was rutting back against Draco, his arse making minute sliding motions against Draco’s cock.

Draco had fucked Harry slowly and tenderly that night. He’d made the other man unravel beneath him until Draco’s cock fucking into Harry’s tight arse was the only thing that mattered. He’d been filled with satisfaction when Harry had begged to come, fucked mindless and desperate for release. Taking pity on him, he’d reached around and taken Harry’s cock in his hand and that’s all it had taken, Harry’s hot release pouring out of him and over Draco’s hand. Replete, Harry had sunk onto the bed and Draco had carefully pulled out. Taking his own cock into his hand, Harry’s come mixing with the lube, he had stroked himself brusquely to the sight of Harry’s arsehole as it slowly shrunk back down to its normal size after spending so long stretched around Draco’s thick cock. Draco had shot his load over the rounded mounds of Harry’s arse, his cock finally deflating after what felt like hours of tumescence as he watched the beads of sticky, white come trickle down into Harry’s crevice.

They hadn’t said anything after, lying there in silence for a few minutes until Harry had shakily pushed himself up and had gathered his scattered clothes from around the room and disappeared into the loo. Draco had lain there listening to the water run as Harry had cleaned himself off and then there’d been two tell-tale clicks as Harry had slipped out of the loo and out into the hall without Draco even catching a parting glance at him.

Harry had been gone the next day and Draco was left wondering whether the whole thing had been an alcohol-fuelled fantasy. Months went by and Draco had almost managed to forget the whole thing, only sporadically being assaulted with fleeting memories of that forbidden night that left him craving like a dehydrated man in the desert.

By the time the following year’s convention had rolled around, Draco had managed to convince himself that it had been a fluke. He had avoided that familiar mop of hair, which Draco was convinced he could pick out in any crowd, behaving as if they were opposing magnets repelling each other around the room. That plan had fallen to pieces when he found himself alone in the public loo with Potter and suddenly the magnetic forces had reversed and he’d pushed Harry into one of the stalls and had fucked him right there, a hastily cast  _ Muffliato _ barely concealing their carnal activities from the other patrons as they used the facilities.

Harry had come, painting the stall door with stripes of come that slid down to drop onto the floor. Draco had pulled his cock free, casting a quick cleaning charm before spinning Harry around and pushing him to his knees. Harry went willingly, relaxed from his orgasm that now stained the shins of his pants. He took Draco’s cock into his mouth and sucked him hard, curving his tongue around the veiny length as he pressed the tip into the back of his throat. Groaning, Draco had run both hands through that messy length of hair and taken firm handfuls, using his grip to direct Harry’s head as he fucked into his mouth. Harry had groaned, the vibration traveling up Draco’s cock and he pulled out, enjoying the view as stripes of his come shot out over Harry’s face.

Every year since had been variations of the same. After twelve months of no communication at all, they would crash together, fucking with a pent-up passion that exploded out of them. Sometimes they would manage to make it to Draco’s room, sometimes they would find a semi-private space where they would rush through a hurried and hushed coupling. Sometimes he would pound into Harry, taking him hard and fast and sometimes Harry would ride him, swivelling his hips as he took his pleasure from Draco’s willing body.

No matter how they came together, no matter the variations, one thing had always remained constant: Harry had always left right after. At first, it hadn’t bothered Draco. He never considered himself a cuddler and he’d had enough casual sex to know what the deal was. But as the years wore on and the number of drinks they needed to consume before they would finally give themselves permission to take what they wanted had gone down, he had found himself with a growing sense of disenchantment as he’d lay there with the sweat evaporating off his chest and the other side of the bed empty.

Draco wanted more.

“Your talk on the integration of Muggle technology in the classroom was most interesting.” Draco turned to find a tall blonde wizard standing to his right. The man was nervously swirling an alcoholic beverage of some kind with a lemon twist. Draco let his eyes crawl down the other wizard to take in the simple brown leather shoes, beige pants with a sharp, ironed crease running up the front of the legs, and a plain baby-blue pinstriped shirt tucked into the braided leather belt at his waist. It was as if the man was dressing to be invisible in a crowd and Draco briefly considered taking the man upstairs just so he could vanish those disgusting clothes into oblivion.

Smirking at the thought, Draco took a sip of his drink and shot the man a coy look. “Thank you. I imagine you would appreciate a reason to add a pocket protector to your ensemble.” The man’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as he looked down at himself, unsure of how to interpret Draco’s words. As he went back to perusing the room’s occupants, he found Potter staring intently at the drab wizard and if Draco didn’t know any better, that was a look of jealousy on Harry’s face.

An impish urge overtook Draco and he turned towards the lacklustre man, lifting his hand and resting it against the man’s flat chest, fingertips just barely grazing the skin above the last fastened button. Draco moved in closer to the taller wizard, crowding his body with his own. “The classroom isn’t the only room that Muggle technology can spice up, you know. The Muggles have also developed a plethora of...toys for the bedroom,” Draco purred, smiling wickedly as the man shuffled nervously under the onslaught of Draco’s suggestive tone.

“I...uh...um…” the man stammered before being cut off by a gruff male voice.

“Malfoy, good to see you again.” Harry turned towards the hapless pawn who, seeing the famous lightning bolt mark, gulped audibly. “If you don’t mind, Mr…” Harry trailed off, drilling the man with a scathing look that practically screamed that he was less than impressed with the sight before him.

“Bălan. Mihai Bălan. You are Harry Potter, yes?” the man asked, looking very much like he wanted to bow in honour of the great man before him. It had been quite a number of years since Harry had managed to defeat Lord Voldemort, and the number of front-page stories and biographies of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ had dwindled down, but apparently the hero worship was very much still alive and active.

Draco threw back the rest of his drink and spun back towards the bar, signalling the bartender. “I’ll get us a new round, shall I? Martini, shaken not stirred for you,” Draco noted dryly before swinging his gaze towards Harry. “And for yourself?”

Harry’s right eyebrow quirked up and his lips thinned in a doomed attempt to hide his amusement before he turned back to the third wheel wizard and offered his hand. “I hope you don’t mind, but if you’d excuse us, I have something to discuss with Monsieur Malfoy.”

Bălan’s head bobbed up and down, not unlike one of those ungodly bobblehead toys that always managed to send nervous creeps through Draco’s body and he took hold of Harry’s proffered hand with a greediness that had Draco rolling his eyes before scurrying off.

Draco feigned ignorance of Harry, even though he could feel the solid wall of heat radiating off of the other man, who was standing much closer than common decency would demand. Finally managing to snag the bartender’s attention, Draco ordered himself another gin and tonic and ordered Harry a pint of Guinness.

He hadn’t realised his mistake until it was too late.

“So you do know my drink, then?” Harry asked, looking far too pleased for Draco’s liking.

Choosing to ignore his faux pas, Draco volleyed back, “I hope you have a good reason for coming over here and interrupting my  _ fascinating _ conversation with Monsieur Batan.”

“Bălan,” Harry corrected.

“What do you want, Potter,” Draco snapped, pulling out his wallet and counting out the appropriate number of bills.

Harry accepted the Guinness from the fit bartender with a friendly smile that made Draco bristle before turning back to Draco. “I just…well...we haven’t…”

Draco rolled his eyes and took a deep pull from his drink. “Spit it out, would you?”

Harry shifted closer, close enough that Draco cast an eye over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed, but there didn’t appear to be any scandalous looks aimed in their direction. Draco felt a sting of disappointment at that, even though he knew that would only spell out trouble for him. “We haven’t had a chance to...catch up yet,” Harry rushed out, leaning close to whisper to Draco, as if he had outright confessed to lamenting not having Draco’s cock up his arse yet this year.

Draco turned his head, bringing them close enough that he could smell the sweet, roasted malt of the Guinness floating on Harry’s breath. Now was the moment that he had been building himself up for. The moment where he would finally say no. Where he would walk away from the man that was slowly and steadily burrowing down into Draco’s heart.

All he had to do was walk away...and he found himself lacking the strength to do it.

“There may be…” Draco locked eyes with Harry, irises flaring at the connection as he slipped the spare room key he’d requested when he’d checked in into the handkerchief pocket of the simple blazer that Harry was wearing, “572 other people here who are dying to kiss your arse, but what I want requires a little more privacy.”

Harry’s enraptured look was a soothing balm for Draco’s disappointment in himself. Surely it was inhuman to ask himself to resist that delectable mix of lust and wonder that lit up Harry’s face?

Draco swallowed the last of his drink while staring intently at Harry, letting all of the lust, and yearning, and pining that he’d been suffering through the last year project out of him before slamming the glass back on the bar. “See you later, Potter,” Draco instructed, fully confident that Harry would be knocking softly at his door not long from now.

An hour later, the certainty had ebbed some and Draco found himself pacing the thin layer of patterned carpet of room 572. He had made a beeline for the minibar as soon as he’d come back from the networking event down at the bar, but he’d slammed closed the mini refrigerator before taking action. For once, Draco didn’t want the forgiving haze of alcohol to explain away their evening together.

Draco had just given up hope, retiring to the bathroom to brush his teeth, when a soft rapping sound came from his door. “Jus’ a’ ‘inu’,” he called, mouth full. Spitting the toothpaste and hastily rinsing out his mouth, Draco renewed the tousled look of his cropped hair in the mirror so that he looked bed-rumpled and sexy before clicking off the bathroom light and drawing a reassuring breath in front of the hallway door.

Pulling the door open, Draco affected a nonchalant stance, one arm propped up against the thin wood of the door and accentuating the long, trim lines of his body as he stood there in nothing but the clinging black briefs which accentuated the pale expanse of his torso. With a grandiose gesture, Draco ushered Harry into the room, locking out the rest of the world behind him.

Harry wasted no time, seizing him up in a passionate embrace as soon as the subtle click of the lock broke the silence of the room, but Draco held him off, bracing his hands on the other man’s chest. Instead, Draco softened the kiss, teasing Harry with barely-there flicks of the tongue and soft caresses of his hands. Instead of a lust-fuelled frenzy, their journey to the bed was marked by tender touches and solicitous strokes.

Draco backed Harry into the bed, grasping his shoulders before he fell back and out of touch. He unleashed the tight reins on his feelings, let all the emotions that had grown, unbridled, pour forth into Harry through their interlocked lips as he slowly undressed the other man, reticent to lose contact with Harry’s plump, inviting lips for even a second.

Once they were both stripped, Draco eased Harry back onto the bed, spreading himself atop the other man and relishing in the radiant heat of his skin. They kissed their way up the bed until Harry’s dark hair was spread across the pristine, almost-glowing white of the pillowcase.

Harry moved to roll over but Draco stopped him, taking the other man’s hands in his, interlocking their fingers and moving their locked hands up to rest against the pillows. They lay there close enough to breathe each other’s breaths for long moments until Harry lifted his head, accepting the silent invite—the silent demand.

If Draco was going to give into this weakness, he was going to demand more out of it. He needed Harry to acknowledge this burning desire—this burning need—between them. They lay there like that, frotting against one another and exchanging panting breaths for long minutes until Draco couldn’t wait anymore. It had been so long and he felt parched—desperate for the feel of this man beneath him.

Slipping his fingers free, Draco slid down, covering every inch of Harry’s skin that he could reach with his skin—hands, lips, body, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the burning intensity that tore through him at every point of contact, like thousands of individual stars woven into the blanket of night.

Draco shimmied his way down Harry’s body, giving free rein to his own personal form of idolatry. This inch of skin offering comfort; that inch offering redemption; the next offering acceptance; this one offering love. A part of Draco feared that this would be the last time; that this would be the final chance he got to bend down and worship at the naked openness of his own personal idol: an eidolon that disappeared in the dark of night. He’d given himself the freedom of this last moment of weakness, so he took pains to commit every touch, every taste, every feeling to memory.

Draco took his time to coax Harry out of his shell, showing him what he was missing—what he could have any time if he’d only ask for it. He took Harry into his mouth, sucking him down as far as his body would allow, savouring the salty masculine taste of Harry’s cock. He alternated deep sucks which hollowed out his cheeks with delicate nibbles up and down the straining veins of Harry’s flesh until Harry was trembling beneath him.

When Harry’s thighs were quivering beneath his touch, tap dancing along the edge of orgasm, Draco backed off and made his way down and around, lavishing attention on each of Harry’s furry orbs before bending the other man back, holding him open by the back of his knees as he trailed his tongue along the crevice of Harry’s arse and up to the twitching furl of his rim.

Harry let out a litany of curses as Draco lavished attention on the tight entrance to his body. In all their liaisons, they’d never ventured into this terrain of intimacy, instead making do with hastily cast stretching charms in the heat of the moment. Draco watched through the split of Harry’s legs as Harry tossed his head against the pillow, lost in the thrall of Draco’s tongue as it stretched and penetrated the twitching ring of muscle. 

Harry had moved past begging, devolving into incomprehensible babbling and rushing pants when Draco finally took pity on him, letting Harry’s legs rise and come to rest on Draco’s shoulders. Holding his cock as he lined himself up with the entrance to Harry’s body, Draco pressed into the heat, his own saliva easing the way. Long moments later, Draco was buried deep and he turned his head, placing a kiss on the soft hairs of Harry’s calf.

“Please...Draco...please.”

Draco looked up, not at Harry’s pleading tone, but at the glorious sound of his own name tumbling out of Harry’s lips. He’d never heard those five simple letters infused with so much longing, so much need, so much desire.

So much love.

At least, Draco hoped that was what he heard.

Sliding Harry’s legs down to encircle his waist, Draco leaned down and took Harry’s lips—those lips that offered him hope—in a passionate kiss as he began moving, sliding in and out of Harry in slow, rhythmic movements. They stayed like that, wound around each other, for a long time, fucking to a slowly building crescendo that, when it peaked, washed them both over together.

When it was over, they laid there side by side, chests heaving as they came back to Earth.

And then Harry shifted, moving to get up and leave again. Draco’s tongue, controlled by his heart, was moving before his mind could catch up.

“You could stay...Harry.”

Harry froze, his head the only part of his body moving as it swivelled around to look at Draco, who stared, nervous and embarrassed, at the crown moulding that encircled the room’s ceiling.

“Yeah...I could…?” Harry said, tone wavering between a statement and a question.

Draco summoned the scattered strings of his courage and wove them together, chin lowering as he finally made eye contact with Harry. A pregnant moment of silence stretched between them and Draco swallowed nervously before a tentative look of confidence began to take root on Harry’s features.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can,” Harry said, definitely a statement this time. He let his pants drop back onto the floor from where he’d grabbed them earlier and he lay back down, sliding in behind Draco as he turned, putting his back to Harry. They laid there stiffly for a few moments until Harry tentatively placed one of his palms on Draco’s hip. Unsatisfied, Draco took hold of Harry’s hand and pulled it up, tucking it against his chest and pulling Harry into him, his body radiating heat and covering Draco in a blanket of warmth.

Gradually, they both relaxed and fell asleep, Harry’s even breaths lulling Draco into one of the best sleeps he’d had in years. Which must have been why he didn’t sense when Harry woke up, only stirring to consciousness as he heard Harry shuffling around the room, making a racket in his attempt to be quiet.

Draco didn’t say anything, feigning sleep in his desire to avoid Harry’s outright rejection. He just needed to hold it together long enough for Harry to leave, then he could pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity and nurse his wounds.

Rustling sounds seemed to echo around the room as Harry got dressed and Draco wanted to scream for the other man to hurry up and get the fuck out. A sound of a drawer sliding open was followed by the scratching sounds of a pen on paper and Draco had to school his features, curiosity threatening to betray his ruse.

Suddenly, there was a graze of fingers on his forehead as Harry pushed back a strand of Draco’s white-blonde hair from his face. Then a soft kiss was placed on his lips, Draco only barely managing to fight back the temptation to return it.

“I’ll see you soon, Draco,” Harry whispered, warm breath washing over Draco’s face before Harry kissed him one more time and then pulled back. The brushing fabric of motion slowly got quieter before a click marked the hotel door closing behind Harry, leaving Draco alone in the room.

Draco raised one hand, brushing his fingers over his lips, trying to memorise the feel of Harry’s lips there before sliding his eyes open and turning his head to see a folded note propped up on the bedside table beside him, his name written in a large, messy scrawl.

\------

_ Draco, _

_ I don’t think I can wait another year. I’ll be in touch. _

_ Harry x _

\------

Draco turned onto his side and propped the note on the bed beside his pillow, reading it over and over. This thing between them was complicated, but this was proof that it was  _ something _ . Draco could be patient.


End file.
